On a Perfect Day
by boschette
Summary: Tragedy strikes when you least expect it. (Amy-Jack-Doug)...COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

It happened on a perfect day. When Amy thought back on it later, that memory stood out the most sharply, the fact that the day had been absolutely perfect. It was unthinkable that something terrible could happen on a day when the sky was such a deep shade of clear blue and the sun shone so warmly and the breeze was so pleasant on your skin. But it did happen. And it started when a car pulled up next to the curb where she stood talking to her friend Jessie outside the corner market.  
  
"Amy? Amy, get in," a voice said.  
  
She turned toward the car and was taken aback to see Dawson, a close friend of her family's, leaning across the passenger seat to open the car door for her. Amy hadn't even known he was in town from L.A. She started to smile in greeting, but something in his expression, in his eyes, stopped her and turned her blood cold. It was as clear as the sky on this beautiful summer day: Something wasn't right.  
  
"Dawson? What is it, what's wrong?" she asked tentatively.  
  
"Get in the car, okay, Aim? I'll tell you on the way."  
  
"On the way where?"  
  
"Amy, please?"  
  
Swallowing hard, Amy turned to Jessie, who nodded for her to go ahead. "Call me later," Jessie said as her friend got into the car, sounding as puzzled and alarmed as Amy felt.  
  
Dawson pulled away from the curb almost before she had closed the door and began speeding down the street. "OK, Dawson," she said, "Please tell me what's going on."  
  
"It's Doug," he said, his voice cracking slightly.  
  
Amy's heart seemed to freeze for a moment. "What happened?" she asked through numb lips.  
  
"He was . . . he was on duty this afternoon, and there was an accident." Dawson cleared his throat before continuing, seeming to gather his strength to break the news. "He was . . . he got shot, Amy."  
  
There was a long silence before she could bring herself to ask the next question. The words came out heavy as stones. "How bad is it?"  
  
Dawson reached across the seat and placed a hand on Amy's. "I don't know for sure. But it . . . I don't think it looks good, sweetheart."  
  
And that was all. She couldn't force another word, another question. Her thoughts seemed to just shut down on the spot, and all she could feel was a tightening in her chest, around her heart. This was ridiculous. Nothing could happen to Dougie. Dougie was invincible.  
  
"Your dad's at the hospital with Joey and Pacey. They sent me to come and get you." Dawson continued talking, but Amy wasn't hearing him. She stared out the window as Capeside flashed past in a blur of colors and shapes, trying to make that pressure around her heart relent a little. She felt like she was being squeezed to death.  
  
The walk into the hospital was also a blur, and when Amy caught sight of Jack, her adoptive dad, sitting in a vinyl chair in the waiting room with his head in his hands, she almost felt like turning and running back outside, out into the perfect day, denying this whole scenario until it simply fell out of existence. But she knew deep down that it couldn't work that way.  
  
Joey glanced up when Dawson and Amy came into the room. There were tear tracks on her cheeks. "Jack," she muttered softly. "She's here."  
  
Jack raised his head and looked straight at Amy, and her heart squeezed even tighter when she saw his red-rimmed eyes. He stood up and pulled her almost roughly into his embrace. With her face pressed against his chest, she said in a muffled voice, "He's going to be okay, Daddy."  
  
He didn't even answer, just pressed his lips hard into the top of her head. With her arms wrapped around his waist, Amy could feel him crying, silent sobs that shook his entire body. She wanted to block that out, too, because acknowledging his pain made this whole thing too real. She struggled out of his grip and scanned the tight, pale faces of her loved ones.  
  
"Can I see him?" she asked no one and everyone in particular. "I want to see him."  
  
"The doctor's going to come back and let us know when we can go in, sweetie," Joey said quietly. She stepped over to Pacey's chair and began massaging his shoulders. He didn't even seem to notice, just went on staring at a spot on the cold white tile floor.  
  
"What are they doing to him?" Amy asked. "Are they operating?"  
  
Silence greeted this question. Jack had turned his back to the room and was staring out the window. Joey glanced up questioningly at Dawson, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Even in her anguished state, Amy could read the unspoken exchange between them: "How much did you tell her?" Joey's look said. "Not much," Dawson's silently conceded.  
  
Joey looked from Pacey to Jack and then back to Amy. "Amy, listen to me. The bullet that hit him . . . well, it went straight through him. He's lost a lot of blood. The doctors are doing all they can right now, but . . ."  
  
She trailed off, and Jack turned from the window and came over to face his daughter, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. "It doesn't look good, baby," he said hoarsely, forcing the words out with a visible effort. "They don't think he's going to make it."  
  
Amy stared at him blankly as his words penetrated her brain, and then she shook her head and started to back away. "No."  
  
"Honey . . ."  
  
"No! That's crap! That's crazy, Dad; why would you say that?"  
  
"Amy . . ." Jack reached for her, but she jerked roughly out of his grasp.  
  
"Get away from me. You're giving up on him. You're all just giving up on him! Pacey?" Amy turned her bewildered eyes on her uncle, Dougie's little brother; surely he knew how insane this was. Surely he knew that Dougie was invincible.  
  
Pacey looked back at her without a trace of the sweet good humor that usually sparkled in his warm green eyes. "I don't know, Amy," he managed to say.  
  
Feeling betrayed by all of them, Amy turned and fled the waiting room. As tears streamed down her face the only coherent thought in her mind was that she needed to see Andrew. Her best friend, her rock, her boyfriend. The one person left in the world who would understand just how impossible it was for one of her dads to die on such a perfect day. 


	2. Chapter 2

Amy ran through the automatic sliding doors of the emergency room and into painfully bright sunlight. Once outside, she stopped to catch her breath, which was coming in sharp, shallow hitches that didn't even seem to be reaching her lungs. She leaned against the wall and felt the warmth of the sun-soaked bricks on her back. Closing her eyes against the sun's glare, she began to feel dizzy, as if she might faint. She heard the automatic doors slide open again, and someone softly spoke her name. When she looked up, Joey was there, her kind brown eyes filled with concern and sadness and sympathy.  
  
"Honey, please come back inside. I know this is hard, believe me. I know this hurts. But your dads need you right now. Both of them need you."  
  
"He can't die, Joey," Amy said, her voice much steadier than she felt.  
  
"I know, sweetie, I -- "  
  
"No!" she interrupted hotly, shaking her head for emphasis. "No, you don't." She couldn't voice what was really weighing on her now, though, couldn't bring herself to admit aloud that the last thing she had said to Dougie was that she hated him. Guilt mixed with a sort of near-panic swept over her in a wave of vertigo, and she leaned over and braced herself with her hands on her knees.  
  
"Amy, sit down," Joey ordered, reaching for her niece's elbow and pulling her gently down toward the concrete walkway. "You look so pale."  
  
"I can't. I need to see Andrew. I need him, Jo!"  
  
Joey managed a tender half-smile. "We're on it, kiddo. Pacey gave him a call earlier when we were trying to track you down. He should be on his way over."  
  
This news served to calm her a little, but still she didn't move for a while, just sat on the warm cement with her knees drawn up and her forehead resting on them. Joey stood over her, chewing nervously on her bottom lip and waiting for Amy to recover.  
  
The doors opened a second time, and Jack came out. He nodded to Joey, and she took the hint. She gave his arm a comforting squeeze and stepped back into the cool, antiseptic-scented hospital to return to her husband and her oldest friend. Jack looked after her for a moment, then he composed himself and squatted down next to Amy.  
  
"Hi there," he said, brushing a hand lightly over her bright blonde hair. She raised her head up from her arms to look at him with red-rimmed eyes, and he was struck, as he so often had been in the last fifteen-plus years of her life, by how much she looked like Jen. It often shocked him, that resemblance, and sometimes it stirred up some memory, sad or funny or just plain stupid, that he'd thought long buried. But mostly it was just comforting and wonderful, a peaceful reminder that his best friend really did live on in her -- their -- daughter.  
  
"Is he okay?" Amy asked in a tight little voice, struck by a terrible fear at the sight of her dad.  
  
"He's the same, babe," Jack assured her. It was the best he could do.  
  
"I'm sorry I ran out like that," she said. "It's just . . ."  
  
"I know. I know exactly what you mean. But, Amy, you're wrong about us giving up on him. No one is going to do that. Do you hear me? No one. Not as long as there's a breath left in his body will I or Pacey or Joey or Dawson or anyone else let that man in there go without a fight. And I know you won't, either. Not our tough girl."  
  
"Of course not." Amy felt a wave of relief at his words. It wasn't a promise, it wasn't an assurance that Doug would walk out of the hospital and be as good as new, but it was better than the despair she had felt back in the waiting room, when it seemed as though they were telling her it was a lost cause.  
  
Jack continued. "And you know Dougie, don't you? Have you ever, in your entire life, known him to give up on anything? Huh?" Jack wiped a stray tear off Amy's face with his thumb, searching her face with probing eyes.  
  
She shook her head. "Not Dougie."  
  
"Damn straight, not Dougie." Jack managed a smile that didn't look as forced as it felt. "It's going to take more than a bullet to stop Capeside's own Sheriff Witter."  
  
Amy nodded slowly, then raised her eyes to meet her dad's. "How did it happen?" she asked.  
  
"Just a regular traffic violation," Jack said. "Some guy who was just passing through town. Doug ran the plates and found that the car had been reported stolen. The guy wouldn't pull over, so Doug had to chase him down. At one point the guy got out of the car and tried to make a run for it. Doug went after him on foot. The guy opened fire."  
  
Amy winced. "I hate his job," she said.  
  
"That makes two of us, baby. But he loves it. And, as he's so fond of telling me, Capeside is not exactly New York City. Most days are safe and boring and uneventful. This happened to be not one of those."  
  
There was a long silence as Amy mulled something over. "Did he tell you about last night?" she asked tentatively.  
  
Jack looked at her softly, raising an eyebrow. "About your fight?"  
  
She nodded. "I was so awful to him. I said some things I didn't mean."  
  
Jack's mouth fell open in mock surprise. "You've GOT to be kidding. Not the calm, cool, even-tempered Amy Lindley I know!"  
  
"Stop it, Dad. I'm serious."  
  
Jack was pleased to see a small smile touch the corner of her lips. He took her hand, knowing exactly what was troubling her. "I know you are. And yes, Doug told me about it. In fact, we were going to have a talk about that when I saw you later today. But the important thing is that he knows you love him. Don't ever think that either of us don't know that. We do. You're a tough nut to crack sometimes, Aim, but no one knows you like we do. Except maybe that boyfriend of yours."  
  
"But I told him I hate him." Amy's voice caught slightly, and tears filled her eyes again. "What if he dies thinking I hate him?"  
  
"What did I just tell you? That's not going to happen, sweetheart. You've told me you hate me before, too, and I didn't believe it for a second. You're one of those people whose mouth works quicker than her head, and Dougie and I both know that about you. He knows you love him. And hey, he doesn't tell you he loves you very often, does he? Do you think that means he doesn't?"  
  
"No. I know he does."  
  
"Exactly. It's not always what we say to people that shows how we feel about them."  
  
Amy nodded, wiping the leftover tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Should we go back inside and wait?"  
  
Jack stood up and held out a hand to help her off the pavement. "Yeah, let's go wait for our favorite cop to wake up."  
  
As they walked back inside, Jack brushed aside an uneasy feeling. He felt like he was lying to Amy. There was a good chance Doug was going to die. He knew that, and it was killing him. He refused to be the cause of his little girl feeling what he was feeling right now, though. He couldn't do that to her. If the unthinkable happened . . . well, they could deal with that then. Now he was just happy that he had taken away some of the pain she was in, and convinced her (and maybe himself, as well) that there was a little more hope than there might realistically be. What harm could come of that? 


	3. Chapter 3

Doug Witter. He stood out in Amy's mind, from her earliest baby days, as the human embodiment of strength. He was solid, unwavering, imposing, eternal. He was unmoving and strong-willed, he could be quick to anger and slow to admit his mistakes. Most of all, though, Doug was Amy's daddy, just as much as Jack was. He was the balance that struck the perfect chord to make their lives, their family, what it was. He made them whole.  
  
In spite of (or probably because of) Doug's fierce devotion to being a good father, he and Amy had been clashing since she was old enough to talk. At the root of their problems was Doug's authoritative tendencies and Amy's absolute resistance to them. From the moment he and Jack decided to make a go of things, Doug understood that he was going to be a surrogate dad to Jack's adopted daughter, and he knew damn well that this was one thing he couldn't afford to screw up. He felt that Jack was too easy, too much of a pushover where Amy was concerned, so he took the tougher approach, and his relationship with Amy had sometimes suffered for it over the years.  
  
But he absolutely adored her. Now, he lay unconscious in the hospital bed, unaware of the flurry of activity around him as doctors and nurses worked feverishly to keep him from slipping away. And as his body fought to hang on to life, his dreaming mind called up images of that life with Jack and Amy.  
  
. . . sitting on the beach with Jack the day of Jen's funeral, Amy lying peacefully in a stroller near them, sharing their first public kiss and feeling so free, so happy, so in love with this man and the life they would begin together . . .  
  
. . .the horrible sleepless night when they had rushed the baby to the hospital with a fever of 104. Sitting in the waiting room with Jack, holding his hand and trying like hell to be a rock for him and ignore the fact that his own heart was breaking with fear and love for both of them . . .  
  
. . . their first trip to Disney World, when Amy was four. She had insisted they ride the teacups five times in a row and then had thrown up the hot dog and grape soda she'd eaten for lunch -- all over Jack's shoes . . .  
  
. . . her first day of school, when they had taken her into the classroom by the hand, expecting her to burst into tears when they turned to leave. They'd watched in awe and admiration as their blonde-haired princess calmly disengaged her hands from theirs, kissed each of them, and trotted off fearlessly to introduce herself to a group of kids standing shyly by the goldfish bowl. ("Hi, I'm Amy Evelyn Lindley. I'm five years old. Those are my daddies over there."). . .  
  
. . . the heart-stopping moment when he had come upstairs to find Amy and her friend Andy, both seven years old, examining his service weapon (which he had, this ONE time, forgotten to secure in the drawer with the padlock) on the floor of the walk-in closet of his and Jack's bedroom. Amy had looked up at him with wide blue eyes, startled and terrified by the fear she saw in his face, and automatically began to cry. He felt like crying too with the force of the "what if," but had managed to hold it together as he breathlessly began the long, anguished scolding . . .  
  
. . . the teen years (so far), with the requisite fights and tears and slammed doors too numerous to count, Amy screaming at him that he wasn't her father, Jack assuring him that she didn't mean it, she was angry, she was fifteen. The words hadn't eased the pain she'd inflicted, but he'd tried to brush it away. She was right, after all, he wasn't her father. But in his heart, that didn't matter . . .  
  
And when was the last time he had told her that? He couldn't remember, and that bothered him. He had tried so hard to avoid the mistakes his own father had made with him and Pacey and their sisters. To make Amy feel loved. To make her feel that she could come to him with problems and find support, unconditionally. But who did she go to when she needed advice? Not him. Jack, most of the time, or Joey, or even his brother, but not him. And yes, there was regret.  
  
He was still losing blood. Lots of it, as fast as they were putting it in to him. His body was growing weary, and the doctors were growing more and more certain that they weren't going to be able to save him.  
  
Out in the waiting room, Amy sat next to Jack and held his hand. Andrew, her boyfriend, had arrived and was sitting on the other side of her. Joey and Dawson stood by the window, sipping coffee out of Styrofoam cups and speaking in a barely audible murmur. Pacey was off by himself, his expression blank and his eyes staring, willing his big brother not to give up. He had been in there a long time. Was that good or bad? No one seemed to dare venture a guess.  
  
Amy's thoughts unwittingly paralleled some of Doug's as she reflected on their fight the night before. Her own horrible words kept ringing in her ears: "Why don't you worry about your own life and leave me alone? I hate you, Doug!" It made her sick. It was like a knife in her gut.  
  
Andrew looked over and saw that she had started crying again. Tears slowly welled up and over her eyelashes, spilling into her lap in fat dark blotches. He wanted to help, but he had no idea how. He squeezed her free hand and said softly, "Want to take a walk?"  
  
Amy looked over at him, her eyes glistening. "I don't want to leave until they come and tell us something."  
  
"Baby, why don't you go take a walk with Andy?" Jack chimed in. "It will make the time pass faster. I promise, you'll know as soon as we know anything."  
  
"But will you be okay alone?" she asked hesitantly.  
  
He smiled at her encouragingly and glanced pointedly over at Dawson, Joey, and Pacey. "Alone? Who's alone? I'll be fine. Go on, both of you."  
  
Amy sighed and nodded, then took Andy's hand and let him lead her away down the chilly sanitary-white hallway and back toward the exit, where the inviting sunlight glinted in the cloudless sky and no one was worried about losing a father. 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: OK, guys, I must confess that I lost my direction with this story (please forgive me for that!), but I can't just leave it hanging...so here's more. I plan to focus more on another story I've started, called "To Be Myself," which is more along the lines of "Life After," and is mostly about "my girl," Amy. So that's the real sequel, I'd say, this one being just a little stop along the way. A special thanks to Yelak, who has stuck with me from the beginning, and to my newer reviewers, Sam Cdn, Phoenix Firefly, Kelcb26, My-Own-Sin, not like you, updawsonscrack, and anyone else I might have accidentally left off this list. I REALLY appreciate your comments, and please keep 'em coming!!!  
  
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Jack watched Amy and her boyfriend walk away down the hall with a strangely painful sense of relief. He was trying so hard to be strong for her, but he could feel his brave façade beginning to crack under the horrible pressure of knowing that half of his heart, his love, his Doug, was lying in a nearby room, helpless, bleeding, losing strength, maybe dying...it was unbearable. Jack's stomach was sour, his throat was dry, his hands were shaking, his eyes burned from all the crying he'd done already. He was determined not to let himself think about the possibility of the tears to come, the ones that would haunt him for the rest of his life if Doug gave up, if the doctors gave up on him. But in spite of his denial, that was just about all his weary mind would allow him to think about. A sob threatened, and he took a breath so deep that it hurt his ribs.  
  
"Here you go. Drink this."  
  
He looked up at Joey, who was holding out a paper cup full of water. Shaking his head, he motioned her hand away. "No thanks, I can't."  
  
"Jack," she said firmly. "Come on. You look like hell."  
  
He laughed humorlessly. "That's not surprising. I'm in hell." He took the cup, more to appease her than anything, and sipped at the cool liquid. It felt good on his parched throat. "Thanks," he said, looking up at her with real gratitude. She smiled soothingly and sat down next to him.  
  
"Pacey called Andie," Joey said. "She's on her way."  
  
Hearing that sent an icy blade of panic into Jack's chest. He imagined his sister sitting in her swanky Boston law-firm office with some well-groomed corporate client, pausing apologetically to take an emergency phone call from her high school boyfriend, her smile fading and her face paling as he broke the news to her in a strained, forced voice...it was too real.  
  
"There's no need for her to come all the way out here..." Jack began, and then his words trailed away. His eyes met Joey's briefly, and they seemed to share the same thought: Yes, there is. They were quiet for a while, Jack sipping at his water, Joey preoccupied, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her fingers.  
  
"Jo, has it ever occurred to you that our group has gone through way more than our fair share of heartache for a lifetime?"  
  
"Absolutely," she said without hesitation. "We've lost so many people. My mom, Dawson's dad, your brother, Grams..."  
  
"...Jen," Jack finished for her when she seemed reluctant to go on.  
  
"Yes, Jen."  
  
Jack squeezed his eyes shut against the headache that was pounding sickly in his temples. Unbidden images of lost loved ones flashed before him in the darkness behind his eyelids. He saw his brother, Tim, tossing baseballs to him in the backyard while Andie and their mother, still in perfect health, watched from the porch. He saw Grams, laughing, holding little Amy's chubby hands as she took her first wobbly, tentative steps. (That had been bittersweet, not long after they'd lost Jen, and everyone thought but didn't say how sad and unfair it was that she had missed out on that moment.) He saw Jen, pale and weak, lying in the hospital bed on the day before she died, teasing him in that lovable way of hers about some nurse he'd had to flirt with to get in to see her after visiting hours. That had been the last time she'd teased him that way.  
  
And Doug. Doug with his impossibly bright blue eyes, with his quick wit and charm and his warm, soft heart that he tried, usually unsuccessfully, to shield from outsiders. His commanding presence, which made him so good at his job. His love for Jack. His love for Amy. Theirs for him.  
  
Another wave of grief, sick and frightening in its intensity, washed over Jack. "I don't know if I can take losing him, Jo." His voice was tight, thick with emotion. She put her arms around him and pulled him close to her.  
  
"I know," she said through her own tears, "I don't know if any of us can."  
  
They sat like that for a long time, clinging to each other in the artificial chill of the waiting room. Across the room, Pacey and Dawson spoke about neutral topics in low voices and avoided looking up at Joey and Jack as if their lives depended on it. Pacey was struggling to hold it together, and seeing his wife and his brother's lover in the throes of their emotion made him feel like breaking. And he wouldn't do that. Couldn't. He was a Witter, too. Doug would stay strong if the tables were turned, and Pacey had every intention of doing the same.  
  
So he focused his attention on Dawson, his oldest friend, his wife's oldest friend...Dawson, whose very presence was comforting and familiar but almost painful in its familiarity, reminding him sharply of their childhood, their youth, their long tumultuous adolescence when it seemed that the world ended beyond the limits of Capeside...college, heartbreak, love and loss and love again...Reminding him of the bond of friendship, the link between them that they had bent and stretched and at times almost broken...that link, which had brought them together again and rekindled their friendship, that link who was sitting across the room from them right now, comforting Jack in his grief.  
  
Dawson was talking about a new project he was working on, another coming-of- ager that borrowed heavily from his own prepubescent experiences. Another movie that was, more or less, about Joey. Pacey tried to look as if he was listening as Dawson detailed the plot, the script, the search for just the right teen actors to portray Capeside's own. But Pacey's mind was not on Dawson's movie. It was fixed helplessly on his brother, Sheriff Dougie, his lifetime tormentor, supporter, rival, friend...Dougie just had to pull through. He had to. Because they couldn't get by without him.  
  
Glancing away from Dawson, he caught sight of Amy, who stood frozen in the doorway with Andy, gaping openly at her dad with an expression of horror on her pale face. Andy reached for her, but her arm slipped through his fingers as she ran to Jack and threw herself into his embrace. Joey backed away to give them their moment, wiping leftover tears from her cheeks.  
  
"It's okay, Daddy," he heard Amy saying in a pleading tone, and she suddenly sounded much older than her fifteen years. "Please stop crying. That won't do him any good. He needs us to be strong for him." And then she echoed Pacey's thoughts of just a moment before. "He has to pull through. He has to. He knows we can't live without him." 


	5. Chapter 5

The day wore on, the shadows transformed, growing longer and deeper, and still there was no word from Dougie's doctors. An unnatural silence had settled among the weary group gathered in the waiting room, a tension that seemed to hover in the air like a warm, smothering blanket covering all of them. When a voice finally cut through that strange atmosphere, everyone jumped and turned to stare at the newcomer.  
  
"Jack...oh, God..."  
  
Andie McPhee stood in the doorway, her sandy blonde hair tousled and her navy blue suit wrinkled from the drive up from Boston.  
  
Jack disengaged his arm from around Amy's shoulders and went to his sister, hugging her tightly.  
  
"Have you heard anything?" she asked when they broke apart.  
  
"Not a damn word," Jack said gruffly. "It's been hours."  
  
Amy moved in to hug her aunt. "Hi there," Andie said softly. "How are you holding up, Little Jen?"  
  
Amy smiled slightly at the use of that old nickname, which Andie and the others had often called her when she was younger, because of the striking resemblance she bore to her mother. It was comforting somehow to hear it now; just the sound of it called to Amy's mind the warmth, safety, and security of her childhood, when nothing bad could touch her or anyone she loved. She would give anything to feel that way again, just for a few minutes.  
  
"Not great," she admitted to Andie. "I just wish they'd tell us what's going on."  
  
As if on cue, a short, balding, bleary-eyed doctor appeared in the doorway behind them. He cleared his throat, and immediately every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on him. Time seemed to freeze. Jack's hands fell on Amy's shoulders and squeezed a little too tightly. Across the room, Pacey stood up and groped blindly for Joey's hand.  
  
"Douglas Witter's family?" the doctor asked, scanning the room questioningly.  
  
No one seemed able to answer. After a long, loaded silence, Jack managed in a shaky, uncertain voice much unlike his usual one, "Y-yes."  
  
"He's stable," the doctor said. "He's not out of the woods yet; he's lost a lot of blood, but his defenses finally seem to be kicking in, and the bleeding has slowed down enough to satisfy us that he's out of immediate danger."  
  
No one seemed to breathe right away. Then Amy turned and buried her face in Jack's chest as she began to sob for the millionth time that day, only this time from a relief so strong it took her breath away. She could hear her dad's heartbeat through his shirt, fast and strong and alive. He clung to Amy tightly as she cried, and his own tears dripped silently down his cheeks and splashed onto his daughter's hair. "Thank you, Doctor," he said at last, when his presence of mind returned enough for him to speak.  
  
The doctor smiled understandingly at Jack and nodded. "It was touch and go for a while," he said. "That's a strong man in there."  
  
"The strongest," Jack agreed hoarsely.  
  
"Can we see him?" Pacey asked, resting his chin on top of Joey's head as they held each other and she cried her own tears of relief into his shoulder. Pacey's green eyes had regained some of their sparkle the instant the words "He's stable" had registered in his aching brain.  
  
The doctor shook his head. "He's still unconscious," he said, and looked around at the emotionally strained group of people. "And when he can take visitors, I'd want to limit it to one or two at a time..."  
  
Amy looked up at Jack. "I need to see him, Dad," she whispered.  
  
Jack searched her face for a moment and then nodded. "Can my daughter and I go in for just a second?" he asked the doctor. "Please. It...it's been a very long day."  
  
The doctor hesitated, glancing from Jack to Amy and seeming to size them up. Then he nodded curtly. "Follow me."  
  
He led the way through the swinging doors, down a cold white hallway, and into the room where Doug lay, hooked up to tubes that led to machines that beeped and blinked and flashed monotonously in the rapidly dimming early- evening light from the window.  
  
Amy, feeling suddenly very young and frightened, reached behind her for Jack's hand and was comforted when she found it and he squeezed her fingers. Together, they approached the bed, where a nurse was busy adjusting a hanging bag filled with dark liquid ("Oh my God, that's blood..." Amy thought incoherently with a sharp, nauseating flop of her stomach) that led to a tube in Doug's arm.  
  
"Take just a minute," the doctor reminded them before he and the nurse stepped back out into the hallway.  
  
Jack and Amy were silent for a moment, staring down at him. He was so pale. His lips were grayish-blue, a deathly, unnatural shade that sent a sharp shiver down Amy's spine. It hurt her heart to look at him.  
  
Jack leaned down and kissed him on those cold, seemingly lifeless lips. "Hey, hon," he said. "We're here. Amy and I are here with you."  
  
Doug's eyelids fluttered as if he were dreaming. Amy took one of his hands and was startled by how cold it felt, the skin of his palm smooth and slick like plastic. "Hi Dougie," she said timidly, her voice shaking. "You really scared us. We thought we were going to lose you."  
  
"But you're a fighter, aren't you?" Jack added. "I knew you wouldn't let something as insignificant as a little gunshot wound take you away from us."  
  
"Then who would stay on my case and keep me in line?" Amy said with a small smile. "I still have a few good teenage years left in me; I don't think Dad can handle it all by himself."  
  
Jack laughed, tears shining in his eyes. "She's right. I can't. You know we need you, Dougie. We all do."  
  
"Thanks for hanging on for us," Amy said. "Now you've got to make it the rest of the way. It should be easy for you; the hard part is over."  
  
Doug, who was floating in a sea of darkness, heard their voices as if from a great distance. Fighting the blackness with every ounce of his strength, he realized that he could actually see Jack...Oh, his wonderful Jack, the man who loved him as no one else ever had...Jack was standing on the shoreline on the other side of this dark river, calling to Doug, urging him on, pleading with him to keep swimming, to meet him halfway...  
  
...and, next to Jack, there was Amy, sweet Amy. Flesh and blood didn't matter; she was his daughter, his baby girl. Seeing her there, standing hand-in-hand with Jack, Doug doubled his efforts, fighting the dark currents with everything he had as he swam toward his family.  
  
Amy gasped when Doug's eyelids slowly opened. "Dad? Look."  
  
Jack moved forward, taking Doug's hand, and whispered, "Dougie? It's okay, you're all right, we're here." Then, raising his voice slightly, "Aim, go get someone."  
  
Amy hurried out into the hallway and almost ran headlong into the doctor who had taken them into Doug's room. He looked startled. "I was just coming to get you," he began. "I think it's time to..."  
  
"He's waking up," Amy said breathlessly.  
  
The doctor raised his eyebrows, then stepped past her and went to Doug's bedside. "Mr. Witter?" he asked in a loud, clear voice. "Mr. Witter, can you hear me?"  
  
Doug took a deep, rattling breath and winced, gritting his teeth against a wave of pain.  
  
"Doug? Are you with us?" Jack asked.  
  
He made a strange, choked noise in the back of his throat as he tried to speak, then he managed a dry, barely audible whisper. "What happened?"  
  
"You're okay, hon, there was an accident," Jack said, relief written all over his face at the sound of Doug's voice, however weak. They all watched Doug closely, waiting to see what, if anything, he remembered, and what his reaction would be. The stillness stretched out.  
  
Finally, another rattling breath, another agonized wince, and then Doug said in a halting but clear whisper, "Th...that...ah-ass-hole got away, didn't h-he?"  
  
There was a long pause, and then Jack released the breath he had been holding and began to laugh, a trembling sound, half-hysterical, but welcome in the alien, sanitary atmosphere of the hospital room. Amy, wide-eyed, looked back and forth between her dads, and then she began to laugh, too.  
  
It wasn't funny, of course, the asshole HAD gotten away, but the police were looking for him, and he wasn't going to get very far. At the moment, though, just seeing Doug Witter with his beautiful blue eyes open, breathing and talking and, though in obvious pain, ALIVE, was quite enough to lift the curtain of despair which had been suffocating them all day long. And it felt good to laugh, to release the current of emotion that had tormented them since they had each heard the gut-wrenching news.  
  
When the laughter died out, Amy stepped toward the bed impulsively. "Dougie, I'm so sorry," she said, and the words tumbled out one after another, leaving her breathless and near tears yet again. "I'm sorry about our fight last night. I'm sorry I've been so hard to live with lately. I'm sorry I make things so hard on you when you're just trying to do right by me. I'm sorry I haven't told you I love you lately. Because I really do, and it would have killed me if you had left us before I had a chance to tell you that." She stopped, embarrassed, glancing up at the doctor, who seemed absorbed in examining the chart at the end of Dougie's bed.  
  
Doug reached up with what seemed like a tremendous effort and stroked her hair away from her face. "I love you too, princess," he said in that gruff, cracked voice.  
  
"All right, then," the doctor said suddenly, awkwardly, clapping his hands together. "I'm going to have to ask everyone but the patient to go back out to the waiting room now. We're going to check you over, Mr. Witter, and make sure things are still looking good. We'll call your family in when we're through."  
  
Jack leaned over and kissed Doug again on lips that were regaining a little of their natural color, and Amy kissed his cheek before following her dad into the hall. She glanced back over her shoulder once more as the doctor ushered them out. Doug caught her glance and winked at her solemnly. As the door closed behind them, she was suddenly rocked by a wave of love, so strong it was staggering, for Doug and Jack and every person out there in that waiting room. Trotting to catch up to Jack, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.  
  
He laughed easily, hugging her back. "Wow, what was that for?" he asked.  
  
"I'm just happy," she said. "I'm happy my mom picked you. And I'm happy you picked Doug. We're really lucky, aren't we?"  
  
Smiling broadly, his eyes twinkling, Jack nodded. "You can say that again," he said. "Now let's go tell the others our favorite sheriff is back."  
  
They went back into the waiting room to share the news with the rest of their family. And when Amy thought back on this day of fear and pain and sorrow and regret and relief like she had never known, she remembered that it happened on a perfect day.  
  
THE END  
  
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Okay, did ya like it? Hate it? Let me know! Thanks for reading and reviewing, and for being patient while I debated whether Doug would live or die. But honestly, there was no question...I could never kill off that man! Hope you enjoyed this, and allow me to plug "To Be Myself," which will (time permitting) be updated shortly. Love you guys! 


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